


first (kiss, kill)

by dinodo



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Angst, Backstory, Discussion of Torture, F/M, Gen, Pre-Canon, goblins play spin the bottle with bones obviously, ive taken a throw away sentance literally to the nth degree
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-10
Updated: 2019-01-10
Packaged: 2019-10-07 16:53:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,812
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17369777
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dinodo/pseuds/dinodo
Summary: "I've kissed a boy.""And then you cut his throat and fucking kill him!"When she looks back on it later, the memory of the moment will be shrouded in a soft warmth and a hazy glow that it has no right to, and Nott will try her best not to think of it despite the comforting feeling it gives her, because she knows what came before, what comes after.





	first (kiss, kill)

The day of Nott the Brave’s first kiss is sunny and beautiful. Goblins, as a rule—at least the clan of goblins Nott has known her entire life—don’t care very much about the weather, or beauty, but Nott has never been the typical goblin. When she looks back on it later, the memory of the moment will be shrouded in a soft warmth and a hazy glow that it has no right to, and Nott will try her best not to think of it despite the comforting feeling it gives her, because she knows what came before, what comes after.

Nevertheless, the day is warm, and she will somehow still treasure the moment for the rest of her life.

It happens that the day of her first kiss is also the day Nott is assigned her worst job yet. Her clan deemed her large enough to work some weeks ago, but in the time since then they’ve been “unable to find a suitable assignment” for her, which Nott knows means they have no idea what to do with her since she’s absolutely terrible at everything. Her clan is mean to everyone—they’re _goblins_ , which, from the way the other races scorn them probably means that they’re inherently terrible—but her inability to find a position that fits has made her effectively useless, and has resulted in her waking up day after day with more bruises and black eyes than normal before leaving to start whatever new job she has been tasked to fail at that day.

Today, though, is different. This morning, the Clan, utterly at their wit’s end, had assigned her to go with Iss the Strong and her soldiers, to stage an attack on a nearby halfling village and bring back food and hopefully captives that could give them information on other villages in the area. Trudging through the fields nearby the village, the grass high enough that it passes her head and blocks her view of anything ahead, Nott looks at Iss’s soldiers and shivers. She can’t mess this one up. Nott doesn’t want to be a soldier—she’s small, and scrawny, and much better at hiding than fighting—but some of these goblins are twice her size, and the only members of the clan known to be crueler than Iss’s soldiers is the torturer. And nobody, especially not these soldiers, will be kind to a weak, incompetent little goblin like her. Nott swallows hard, and reaches for her flask.

Distracted and struggling to drink without drawing attention, Nott tries to fall to the back of the group, but her toes hit an uneven patch of ground and she stumbles. The flask flies out of her hand, and she lets out a small, strangled cry, dropping to her knees to pick it up. At this level, she’s too close to the ground. Large foot after large foot tromps by within inches of her, a few intentionally coming down on top of her hands or legs as she digs through the grass frantically. She reaches her flask but there are feet coming down all around her now, and no way for her to get up. Nott curls into a protective ball around her flask, arms covering her head, and tries not to cry out when the next aggressive foot comes down on her calf.

Eventually, the feet are gone and the nearby grass is quiet. Nott grasps her flask tightly, pulls her tattered hood further up over her head, and gets up, prepared to run towards the rest of the group, hoping to catch up with them before they notice how far behind she fell.

Instead, she comes face-to-face with Iss the Strong.

Iss is tall for a goblin, and far, far taller than Nott. In place of the worn bits of cloth that Nott has fashioned into clothes and a cloak for herself, Iss wears armor—real armor, unlike anything Nott has seen before. It’s dented in places, and parts of it look like they may have been burned through by fire or acid, or purposefully pried away. Brown stains coat some of the edges, but with Iss’s track record, it must be the previous owner’s blood. Her stomach churns as she realizes that she’s unsure as to whether the blood is due to the armor being scavenged from a dead halfling soldier the Clan had happened upon, or if it is the result of such a soldier being captured and tortured to death by the Clan. Either way, Iss is the Strong, so it is in her possession now, and the layer of meaning it adds to Iss’s already imposing form makes Nott shrink visibly in terror.

“Nott the Brave,” Iss snarls, teeth bared and sharp and close enough to Nott’s face that she can imagine them tearing angrily into her throat the next second, can see Iss tossing her lifeless body to the side and continuing on with her day as though Nott was only the smallest inconvenience, “You’re holding us up.”

“I—of course Iss, I didn’t mean—”

“What were you doing back here? You don’t intend to leave us so early, do you? Why, we’ve only just reached the edge of the village!”

“No of course not—we have?” Nott drags her eyes away from Iss’s looming visage to look into the distance.

The village is already burning.

“Oh we have, I—well Iss, the village is so close and the attack has already started, and well you know I’m mostly only good for hiding so I really don’t see that you would have much use for me anymore really, so—”

Without warning, Nott finds herself pulled ungracefully off the ground by the back of her collar as Iss begins dragging her towards the fray. Nott kicks her feet fruitlessly as they dangle above the ground, until Iss twists her hand in Nott’s shirt so that her claws dig into the back of Nott’s neck. Her voice is soft and dangerous in Nott’s ear.

“You will stay with _me_ , Nott the Brave, and you will _learn_. Or else I will tear you to shreds myself before sending your bloody, barely living remains to the torturer along with the dregs of this village.”

Nott nods once as the spike of fear shoots through her. Her hand twitches, but she stops it, willing herself into perfect stillness as they approach the village.

Beyond the fire, Iss’s soldiers have already begun their assault. Iss drops Nott to the ground, where she lands with a limp thud and then pulls herself up as quietly as she can. The scene makes her blood curdle. Iss’s soldiers stalk the streets, dark shapes with the misshapen forms of their clubs and knives a sight of terror. The sound of crossbows firing and misfiring is audible over the crackling of the flames and the screams of the villagers, Halfling men and women running through the streets, their shrieks cut short only by the lodging of a bolt in their back or between their ribs. Nott can see some of the Halflings escaping through the streets, unpursued—her Clan has never been concerned with completely eliminating the cities they strike, only with collecting enough people and their belongings to provide food and supplies and information on their next target—but the smell of burning flesh is beginning to intermingle with that of burning wood, and Nott starts to curl in on herself, the sight of the ruined city fully encompassing her vision. She’s not supposed to feel anything for these people, they’re just the Clan’s current target. But tears well up in her eyes instinctively anyway.

Before she can process anything, Iss shoves a crossbow into Nott’s hands. The weapon is foreign, and too large for Nott’s to hold properly. As she struggles with it, that terrifying smile curls across Iss’s face once more as she shoves Nott forwards.

“Your turn, runt. You’re useless at everything else, but maybe you’ll be some good at killing. All you gotta do is fire. It’s the easiest job in the world.”

Nott spins, frozen, and looks up at Iss. The goblin woman is glorying in the wreckage, wind whipping her hair back from her face, the armor glinting in the sun, the scene of utter destruction reflected in her intense, exhalent gaze. Nott is terrified. She’s twitchy with anxiety. She clutches the too-large crossbow tightly.

It goes off.

Iss’s eyes go even wider as the bolt strikes her in the upper thigh. Her face contorts with pain, and then with rage as she lets out the most frightening howl that Nott has ever heard, and she lunges for Nott, clawed hands outstretched and teeth bared, eyes wild with murder.

Before she reaches Nott, her leg gives out. Nott watches her tumble to the ground, and stands, stunned, watching Iss crawl towards her, watches her begin to stagger to her feet. She can’t move. Her body won’t unfreeze, not until Iss is fully standing again, not until she is staggering towards Nott once more.

Then finally, finally, her flight instinct kicks in. Unthinking, brain utterly overridden with fear, Nott runs. Iss is fast, but she’s injured, and Nott is quick and small and very very good at hiding. She tears back through the fields, past small copses of trees and little islands of bushes using them for temporary cover as she goes. She runs for longer than she thinks she’s ever run before, and when she’s sure she has lost Iss—when she’s sure she’s good and lost _herself_ , farther to the opposite side of the Clan’s camp than she’s been before, she finally stops. Her heart still pounding in her chest, her blood still pumping liquid fear through her veins, she looks behind her—no Iss in sight—and begins to walk.

 

* * *

 

The group of goblins is right between Nott and the direction she needs to go to get to her tiny tent and shredded blanket at the edge of the movable city of tents and roughshod buildings. She’s put quite a bit of space between herself and Iss, she assumes, and if she’s lucky maybe Iss will have gone back to the fight at the edge of the halfling village and taken out some of her anger on then.

_And maybe, If the villagers are tough enough, she won’t come back,_ Nott thinks to herself. She doubts it though. She’s never been that lucky. If Nott wants her best chance at survival, she’s got to make it back to her tent and collect it and her few belongings before Iss alerts anyone else to what she’s done. Striking out on her own is terrifying, but she has no idea what the other goblins will do to her if they find out the extent of her failure in this latest job.

But first, she has to get through these—these _kids_. They seem to be around the same size as her, but much more carefree. Maybe they’ve been given cushier assignments—basic workers have much less dangerous lives than the soldiers Nott was assigned to today, but they’re closer to Nott’s level on the scale of acceptable targets of aggression. At any rate, they actually _have_ assignments, and presumably none of them shot their supervisor today, so Nott thinks they’re probably doing alright. She’s also pretty sure that none of them would hesitate to take out their anger on a small, disgusting creature like her should she interrupt their fun.

Her plan of attack is, as always, sneaking. She watches for a while to see when the opportunity will arise. The group is sitting in a circle on the grass, their attention completely focused on a arm bone in the centre of their group that has been placed on a box. One goblin grabs the bone and spins it, and the rest of the group fixates on it intently as it rotates. When it stops, the splintered wrist-end of it is pointing squarely at one of the other goblins. The group cheers loudly, and Nott shrinks away. This is probably going to end in a fight of some kind. It might be better if she hides here for a while and waits until they leave entirely. Risking Iss catching up with her here is better than risking being the object of an already frenzied goblin’s desire for more bloodshed.

Strangely, as Nott watches, the two goblins approach each other and do _not_ attack. She peers through the grass, confused, as they grasp each other, claws digging in, and lean their heads towards one another. Their lips collide in a harsh kiss, a motion that seems strange and foreign to Nott. Displays of affection are rare in her Clan, but kissing, she knows, usually occurs with some kind of feeling behind it. She isn’t sure why this group is doing what they are doing, she’s never seen other goblins play this game. Maybe its for the experience, to try to see what it’s like, what the feeling behind it is for real. Maybe its something that would be interesting to try, just once.

Nott pulls her clawed fingers from where she’s lifted them unconsciously to brush against her mouth, and shakes her head. It doesn’t matter. Interrupting them will only cause more problems. She crouches back down into the brush, and watches as they reset the bone on the table. The next goblin reaches for it—a bulky male who’s face she can’t make out. Nott had assumed these to be workers but with that build maybe she was wrong. She watches as he spins the bone. As soon as it’s in motion, she bolts for it, as quickly and as silently as she can.

She makes it as far as the far side of the group before sharp talons dig into the back of her neck and for the second time today she’s hauled into the air by the back of her cloak. Fear overwhelms her at what is coming, but she goes absolutely still. She knows the drill. If you struggle less, they might stop at taunting and laughing. If you struggle more, they’ll make it into a game—one that always ends sending her back to her tent with bruises.

“Well, who’s _this_ we have here?” The goblin isn’t one Nott knows well, but she’s seen his face before. And Nott is infamous for her incompetence. He _definitely_ knows her.

“The little runt ran straight through and interrupted our game!” Another unfamiliar voice calls out. The goblin holding Nott tightens his grip.

“I see,” he says, grinning “Well, _runt_ , I guess we’re going to have to teach you a lesson. You see we—”

“Let her down, Tak.” It’s the goblin from before, the bulky one who had just spun the bone. Nott twists her head to try to get a better view of him. If he talks to the one holding her for a few seconds longer, maybe she can find a way to slip her cloak off and make a break for it.

“Why should I? I found her, didn’t I? And she’s making a mess, all scampering about like this. I think it’s time for a little fun, don’t you?”

Nott’s twisted far enough that she can see the bulky goblin’s face now, and she has to swallow down a cry for help. It’s Meff. Suddenly, a tiny bit of hope flares into her vision. There was a time when the two of them were very young that they used to play together and look out for one another. She remembers chasing animals with him, carrying them back to eat on the days when they got beat out by the bigger goblins for food. When the Clan would near a village, they used to sneak into town, and Meff would watch, amazed, as Nott stole trinkets and shiny coins right out from under the noses of unsuspecting townsfolk. But, as they got older, Nott had stayed small and scrawny and useless, and Meff had grown. She hasn’t seen him in a long time, since long before she was given her first assignment.

 There’s an underlying determination on Meff’s face there that she hasn’t seen many times on anyone in her clan. For a split second, Nott thinks he might recognize her and try to get her out of this. He strides forward, coming nose to nose with Tak, just inches away from where Nott dangles.

Then, his face twists into a cruel smile and all hope vanishes. The Meff points back towards the bone, which, rather than pointing directly at anyone in the circle, has fallen between Tak and the goblin sitting to his right. Directly pointed at Nott.

Tak laughs, and drops Nott to the ground. “Well, if you like ‘em jumpy I guess there’s not much I can do about that. Make her pay for interrupting.”

“Don’t worry, Tak. She’ll be scared shitless. No more interrupting anyone. Don’t wait for me, go ahead and play the next round.”

Tak nods once, face still curled into a smile, and moves back over to the group, as the bulky goblin drags Nott off.

When they’re far enough away from the group so that they’re still visible but out of earshot, the goblin drops her. He stands in front of her, fully blocking her view of the circle of goblins a little distance away. His eyes have that expression again, the odd compassionate one that Nott has never seen in a goblin before today. He leans in close and whispers to her.

“Nott. Hi. Sorry about that. I hope I didn’t scare you too much—hey!”

Nott’s made it about two feet when he grabs her arm again, then holds her in place by the shoulders. Nott is sneaky, not strong, and Meff’s arms seem as though they’re made of stone.

“You gotta wait, ok?” His voice is hushed, a little panicked. “If they see you running away they’ll just chase after you. If they look over here and it looks like I’m just taking my time, beating up on you a bit, they’ll lose interest and let you go once I’m done.”

Nott is shaking in place just a little, but she forces herself to move her mouth enough to spit out a dry “But why?”

Meff looks confused. “Why what?”

“Why did you…help me? Wouldn’t it be more fun to beat up on me like the others wanted?”

Meff frowns. “I don’t like beating up on other goblins. We’re supposed to be a Clan. Other people, yeah maybe, humans, hobbits, whatever, but _we’re_ supposed to look out for each other. Stuff’s easier that way, we all get more food and shit, ya know? Plus…we used to stick together. Look out for each other. I haven’t seen you in a while, Nott, but that doesn’t mean I want you to get hurt.”

Nott’s mind is working a million miles a second. _Not_ beating up on other goblins? Not even Nott, the scrawniest, easiest way to work out your frustration? She’s not sure what Meff’s assignment is, but this brand of kindness is foreign to every goblin she’s met. Their lifestyle, the terrible things they do, don’t allow for any shred of compassion to remain. Nott likes to think _she_ cares about people, but Nott would stop being a goblin in a heartbeat if she had a chance.

Maybe…maybe Meff thinks the same way? Maybe he could be a friend again. An image flashes through her mind of the two of them, sitting in her tiny tent, talking. Of them leaving the Clan, sticking together and protecting each other as they look for more people like them—people who _care_ , if that sort of person really exists at all. _Maybe_ —the thought creeps to the top of Nott’s mind before she can crush it down— _maybe he could even help me find someone to…change me. So that I can be kind for real. Maybe he would want that, too._

It’s idiotic. She hasn’t seen him in so long, barely knows a thing about him, and in the last two interactions she’s had with him, one of them implied that he wanted to use her as a glorified punching bag just the same as everyone else. But she can’t help it. She’s always wanted a friend.

“I don’t…I’ve never met anyone else who thinks that, Meff. But its…its nice. I like it.”

Meff smiles at her. He looks back at the group, then back to her. “Thanks,” he says. “So hey—what’s your assignment anyways, now?”

Nott tilts her head. “You…don’t know? I thought—I mean—well, most people have seen me around…or kicked me around…I’m—I’m not very good at my job. At any job, really.”

Meff nods. “I see. I’m not around much really, since I got my assignment so that’s probably why. It keeps me pretty busy. I’ve got nothing to do until tonight though, so it’s my day off—I guess you lucked out!”

Nott lets out a hesitant, coughing laugh. “I guess so.” She glances back at the group, and he follows her gaze. “Anyway, um…do you think it’s ok if I go now…or…will they notice?”

Meff stares at the group of goblins for a moment longer. They seem to be once again fully absorbed in the bone-spinning game. He turns back to Nott and eyes her intently.

“What?” She squeaks out.

“Oh, nothing really, just…Well, it did land on you.”

Nott swallows hard. She peers past Meff’s shoulder at the group once more and looks back to Meff. Kissing. She’s thought about it before, but it’s never been a possibility. Not for someone as disgusting and useless as her.  

“Why though? It’s just a game, you can spin it again if you want and it’ll land on someone else.” She pulls her eyes away from Meff and picks at the hem of her shirt with her green fingers, ugly even for a goblin, she’s sure. “You don’t have to pick someone…like me.”

Meff smiles. “That’s true. But I like you, Nott the Brave. If you don’t want to it’s ok. But I’ve um…I’ve never kissed anyone before, actually and…you were my first friend, you know? It would be nice if it was you.”

Bright sunlight filters through the leaves of the trees nearby, dancing across Meff’s chest and face in twisting patterns. Nott looks at him and remembers huddling together with for warmth, remembers them protecting each other from the taunts and fists of the bigger goblins. His face is the same, still, eyes honest and expression open. Nott doesn’t trust anyone, not really, but she’s sure this is the closest she’ll ever get to it. She gulps, then nods and lifts her chin.

Meff leans down to her, and gently presses his lips to hers.

It’s warm, and soft, and Nott feels amazingly safe and terrifyingly vulnerable at once. And, for the first time in a long time, she feels like maybe— _maybe_ —somebody cares about her.

 

* * *

 

When Nott gets to her small tent on the edge of Clan’s current camp, she's still holding that warm feeling, bundling it up and protecting it inside her chest and hoping that it will stay there so she can bring it out again, re-imagine the moment later. She’s never been a particularly optimistic person, but despite the disaster of her assignment today, she feels a tiny shred of hope.

As she picks up her few belongings—a collection of trinkets, mostly, all of which fit easily in her pockets—she thinks of meeting Meff again, of how kind he was to her. She had intended to leave tonight, to ensure that Iss would have no chance to speak to the Clan about her utter failure today, but…she can wait until morning. If Meff returns to his tent tonight, she can wake up early and find him, ask him if he wants to come with her. He probably isn’t a basic worker with his bulk, but maybe he is a hard laborer of some kind. Hauling materials or food or tents from place to place is not a respected position, and someone as kind as him couldn’t possibly fit in fully with the rest of the Clan. Maybe he wants to get away as much as she does.

Nott leaves her pockets full, but settles down on the hard ground under the low canopy of her tent. She pulls the shredded blanket around her, and falls asleep, dreaming of the vast possible futures the morning might bring her, if only she can get away from the clan.

 

* * *

 

Instead, the morning brings only pain.

Nott is startled to consciousness as a forceful hand wrenches her upwards before she can properly wake up. As she opens her eyes, she tries to shrink backwards but the hand has a tight, tight grip on her arm and she finds herself caught and looking into the snarling face of Iss. Nott’s eyes go wide, and she begins to struggle. This isn’t a situation where she can simply be still and wait for Iss to leave. No, Iss is here for a reason, and Nott isn’t sure if she’ll get out of this one alive.

The other goblin growls directly into her face. “You should have run away while you had the chance, _trash_. I told you what would happen if you ran away. And you _shot_ me. Can you even imagine what I’ll have to do to you for that?”

Fear is taking over, and Nott feels herself about to freeze up again. She looks Iss up and down and sees that her leg is heavily bandaged where Nott shot her, but that she’s still steady on it. A kick there might incapacitate her, if placed carefully enough, but she’ll only get one shot.

“I’m sorry I—it was an accident I swear!”

“Doesn’t matter to me, little runt. You ruined my _leg_. If I had my way I’d kill you for that.”

“Please, no, I—I’ll give you anything! I’ve got lots of trinkets and shiny things and maybe even some money, maybe you could buy something nice from the next town we go to, or use it as a bribe to get in unnoticed to scout around or—”

“Where is it.”

“I—I’ll show you if you just—”

“ _Where._ ” Iss’s hand clutches tighter, and Nott feels her hand beginning to go numb.

“It’s in that corner over there, please just let me go, please!” 

Iss is not an idiot—Nott knows that, of course—but she’s also greedy, and the impulse to look wins out for just a brief enough moment that she loosens her hold on Nott’s arm. For a split second, Nott has a chance.

As quick as she can, she jerks her arm away from Iss while simultaneously pulling her leg back and thrusting her knee into Iss’s wounded thigh as hard as she can. Iss howls in pain and grabs for Nott, but before she can get a hand on her arm again, Nott is dashing for the flap of the tent.

She’s barely exited the front of the small tent when she slams directly into someone else, her forehead crashing against their chin. She backs up, stunned and rubbing her head, and looks up, preparing to run again. Then, she focuses on their face.

“Meff?” He looks as surprised as she is.

“You’re the one? I didn’t expect…” His face falls slightly.

Nott notices that he’s dressed differently, his wear almost looks similar to the scavenged leather armour she’s seen Iss’s soldiers wear, but older, and more piecemail.

“What are you…” Her eyes finally focus on what’s behind him, and her body locks up again. Surrounding her small tent are ten of Iss’s soldiers, dressed in full armor, crossbows trained on her. Inside the circle of soldiers, two other goblins stand behind Meff, dressed in similar attire. She recognizes the armor now. They’re guards. The ones who watch the borders of the camp. The ones in charge of guarding the jail, of transporting captives to and from the prison cages and the torturer’s chambers. All three of the guards, Meff included, hold ropes looped around their hands

And attached to the ropes, bloody and bruised, one of them still enough to be either unconscious or dead, are the halfling villagers.

“Meff…” Something crumples in her chest, some small piece of hope she had remaining that maybe, _maybe_ being a goblin didn’t have to mean being horrible.

Meff’s prisoner groans, and tries to sit up, and she watches as he—the person who only yesterday had coaxed that shred of hope to grow just the slightest bit—turns and slams his foot down onto the halfling man’s chest, hard, three times.

“Shut up.” He growls under his breath, before turning to face Nott again. She sees it in his eyes then, the complete absence of care. She feels that bit of hope curl in on itself once more, and then disintegrate to ash. The hardness in his eyes subsides, and the kind visage that he presented yesterday when they met returns, but she knows, now.

“But you—you said you didn’t hurt other people. You said we were a team, that we looked out for each other.” The words hurt, stumbling out of her throat thick and heavy with the utter betrayal she feels.

“Huh? What do you—oh. Nott, of course I would never hurt you. What are you on about?”

“You—how can you say that! You just kicked that man like it was nothing!”

“I don’t know what’s wrong Nott, honestly. They’re just halflings. We’re probably going to kill them eventually anyway. And this one’s actually from the next town over, they found him on the way back from the raid. Gonna end up in the torturer’s chair, soon enough. We’re taking him straight there, actually, we just stopped here to… well…” His face twists worriedly as he looks at Nott, but he covers it up quickly and rushes on, as if trying to convince her.

“I’m just softening him up. It’s no big deal. It’s just a bit of fun” He smiles, and Nott thinks he means it to be reassuring, but it’s terrifyingly cold. She realizes, in that moment, that even if Meff cares about other goblins, he has no emotion, no conscience, when it comes to other peoples. His eyes still locked with hers, the smile still plastered on his face, he jams his foot back into the Halfling’s gut once again. The man lets out a weak groan that Meff cuts off with a jerk of the rope in his hand.

Nott wants to sit down. She wants to tear through the ring of soldiers and run and run and hide somewhere far far away where none of her Clan will ever find her. She wants to tear her skin and her nails and her teeth out, wants to do anything she can in this moment to stop being a goblin, to stop being like _this_ , like these people _._ She wants to grab a crossbow from one of the other goblins and shoot Meff in the face over and over and over, and she’s not sure she likes that about herself but right now she doesn’t care.

Before she can do anything else though, she hears footsteps behind her, and it’s too late. She sees Meff’s features contort into an expression of worry, and then Iss’s hulking form looms over her from behind. She clenches her hands into fists at her sides as terror overtakes her. There’s nowhere to run. She’s trapped.

Iss leans over Nott’s shoulder. She squeezes her eyes shut. Hot, rancid breath brushes across her face as Iss whispers to her.

“Tommorow…tomorrow you’ll start your new assignment. You’re lucky, little runt. _I_ would have killed you. But somehow, the Clan has decided your worthless life is worth sparing. You’ll get one last chance. Since you seem so incapable of doing anything right, you’re getting a real apprenticeship.” Iss laughs, and the sound is grating and horrible in Nott’s ear. “You’re going to learn how we do things first hand. I told you I’d send you to the torturer if you ran away, didn’t I? Well, you’ll be his assistant, now. And _believe_ me, you little waste of space. If you screw up with him, he’ll be just as content to punish you as he’d be having you to help him work on someone else.”

The terror Nott feels rises to a fever pitch. Her worst nightmare is coming to life around her. She desperately wants to bolt, but she stays perfectly still. Nott is good at running, and she’s good at hiding. There’s nowhere to run here, but if you’re still enough, she knows, sometimes, the wild animals and monsters won’t see you. _Maybe_ , some irrational, desperate part of her brain tells her, _if you stay still enough, they’ll forget you’re here_.

“Our guards here will escort you to your new assignment,” Iss says nodding at Meff. “But. The Clan has decided that first, I get to teach you a lesson.”

“Is that really necessary?” Nott hears Meff say.

Iss doesn’t respond, only pulls her fist back and swings it down, slamming it into Nott’s head. Nott feels her legs give out as she crumples to the ground, and curls inwards.

_Stay still. It won’t be as bad if you don’t try to run. You’re just like them, in the end, anyway. Just another goblin._

Nott watches as Meff’s footsteps recede as he moves to stand with the ring of soldiers. As the battered halfling is dragged through the dirt behind him, his eyes flicker open weakly and connect with Nott’s. She almost thinks she feels sympathy in his gaze, for some reason that she can’t untangle. She’s a goblin. She doesn’t deserve it. She squeezes her eyes shut, and braces herself.

Iss’s foot slams into her once, twice, three times, and then all there is is pain.

 

* * *

 

The day of Nott the Brave’s first kill—the first one that means anything to her, at least—is bright and sunny and Nott wants to tear the glowing ball out of the sky with her bare hands because she was hoping it would _rain_ , goddamnit. It’s much harder to hide in blinding midday light when the fields are as open as they are near Felderwin, much harder to disappear into the distance or to blend in with the tall grass when every colour is illuminated in vivid daylight. But this is the only opportunity she’ll have. Nott’s been entrusted with Yeza’s interrogations almost entirely now and the torturer isn’t working today with Yeza the only real remaining prisoner and the whole camp preparing for a new influx of them, which means that she’ll have the place to herself. And as they prepare for their raid on the nearby village, guards are being exchanged and re-allotted to different areas of the camp, so there should be no goblins at the jail today except her. The Clan wants Yeza dead soon, and they want her to do it. By sundown tomorrow, they’ve told her. So today is their last chance.

Nott’s fingers twitch as she approaches the makeshift building where they house the prisoners—where the torturer does his work, where _Nott_ has done her work since they assigned her here. A faint stench wafts from it, a mix of blood and fecal matter and sweat and maybe rotting flesh. Even with as long as she’s been working here, she’s still not used to it. She takes a long swig from her flask and a deep breath before walking inside.

The building is dank and dim, and Nott gags as the smell gets stronger. It’s a small place, only a few cages here and there and a long hallway leading to the room where the torturer does his work. She tries not to look in that direction. Yeza’s cage is at the far end of the room, and even in the dim light she can see his small form curled into a corner. He’s very still. Almost too still.

“Yeza?” she whispers. There’s no response. “Yeza!” She calls out louder this time.

The bundle shifts, and she sees Yeza pull himself slowly to standing, one finger on his lips, his eyes wide and shifting rapidly across the room behind her. He comes up to the bars, quietly.

“Are you ok? I thought you were dead or something!”

“Shhh. I’m fine. Nott, you have to get out of here. It’s not going to work. One of the guards stayed behind.”

Oh. This is bad. If the place was completely empty, they would have had a shot at getting far enough away. Even one guard, though, and they would need a new plan. A distraction. And even then, the likelihood of both of them getting away safely…

“Ok. No it’s ok, it’s definitely fine. I’ve got this!”

Yeza looks unconvinced. “What are you going to do? We can’t just fight them.”

“You’re right but ah—I’ll think of something. I know! You taught me alchemy! What if I just make some of that, I don’t know, that fire thing you taught me how to make? You explained it well enough, I’m sure I’d be able to do it—or—or you could do it, and I could throw it, or—”

Yeza shakes his head, his eyes growing more frantic. “Nott, I don’t have my supplies for that, there’s nothing to make it with and there’s no way you can steal or find supplies in time. Besides, its time-consuming to make anything and we have barely any time at all before he comes back! Please go, you need to—”

“Hey! Who’s in here? Isn’t the torturer supposed to be off today?”

Yeza’s face tightens in fear, and he squeezes Nott’s hand tightly one last time.

“Go,” he whispers, then darts back into the corner and folds himself back into the same small mound of cloth and halfling as before. Nott whips around, still terrified. She wants to run, but she’s not leaving Yeza. He’s _her_ responsibility, and she’s going to get him out of this. Her hand trembles, but she rests it on the grip of the small knife at her belt.

The guard that walks in is Meff.

Nott grips the knife hilt tighter, and backs up against the bars. It had to be him that got sent back, didn’t it. Meff would never hurt her, she knows—he’s been honest about that for all the time she’s known him. But he, out of all the guards, is the most vicious to the prisoners. Before she befriended Yeza, and when the torturer is working on other captured people, on the days her hands shake with fear and anger as she hands him his instruments, when she can’t still them enough to tighten the binds around someone’s wrists, the torturer compares her to him. An assistant with a stomach and a taste for violence like Meff, he told her once, would be on track to work as his equal one day. Meanwhile, Nott is barely competent at _her_ portion of the job.

 Nott has never cared. She’s never wanted to be a good torturer’s assistant. She hates it. She hates watching him work, she hates watching Meff and the other guards brutalize the captives whenever they have the opportunity. It’s taught her that she’s been right her entire life. Goblins are pure, distilled evil, and nothing she does can change it.

But it matters now. Because Meff is here, and he couldn’t care less about Yeza, would probably kill him if he had the chance, and Nott _has_ to find a way to protect him. Any way.

She steps away from the cage and, against every instinct, into the centre of the room.

Meff steps forward when he sees her. He’s wearing his scavenged guard’s armour, and the ring of keys for all the cages is at his belt. “Nott,” He says, voice hesitant. He’s never stopped being kind to her. Its confusing and revolting. They’ve spoken as little as she can manage since she’s been assigned here. “What are you doing here?”

“Oh! I’m—I, uh. Ah. I have to kill Ye—I have been sent to kill the halfling today.” Nott never been very good at lying, but this is life-or-death. It has to work

Meff tilts his head and looks at her. “Have you?”

Nott nods. “Yes! And I’m—wow, I’m just so excited about it. I don’t get to do these things myself often, you know, so it’s a new experience. You all seem so on-board with it, you know, and, well I guess its my turn now!”

His lips curl into a cautious smile that turns Nott’s stomach. “Really? I’m…I’m really happy you’ve come around, Nott. A lot of the others have the idea that you might think you’re better than us.”

“Better? No! I would never. I just—well, it’s been a lot to adjust to. But it’s been an eye-opening experience being here, you know. I get to interface with all the prisoners, and I never understood why everyone was so disgusted by them, but seeing them up close—they’re all pretty weak and worthless, aren’t they?”

Meff nods thoughtfully. “You’ve really learned Nott. I’m happy for you.”

“Um…Thanks! You’ve…you’ve definitely taught me a lot.”

“Are you ready to do it? I can stay and help, if you want.”

Nott takes a half step closer to him. She was hoping for this. She has an opportunity here. She’s not sure she’s brave enough to use it.

“I…I’d like that,” she says “But um, maybe instead…” She trails off. She can’t do this.

“What is it?”

Nott glances back over her shoulder. Yeza is huddled in the corner of the cell, perfectly still against the back wall. He never deserved any of this. He’s the only kind person she’s ever met. She has to get him out of here, no matter the cost.

She looks up at Meff. “I’ve never done this before. Would you…well…could you maybe give me a kiss for luck?”

A soft smile curls across Meff’s face, and some small piece of Nott’s heart that remembers him as her friend aches. “Of course,” He says.

Meff places a hand on her cheek, gently, and bends into her. She squeezes her eyes shut as their lips meet, and it’s just like she remembers. Warm, and soft, and safe. A pang of regret floods her, and she tries to tamp it down. _He’s a goblin. He’s a_ goblin _. He, of all people, deserves it._ Somehow, though, she can’t get rid of the feeling, the memory that superimposes itself over this moment.

Trembling, Nott lifts one hand to the back of Meff’s head and twists it into his hair, pulling him closer, as if caught up in the moment. The other, she tightens around the hilt of the knife. She has to be quick. But she’s always been good at that.

Meff never notices that anything’s wrong, never has a chance to pull away from her. In seconds, the knife is against his throat and her hand in his hair is pressing him into the blade as it slices across his neck in a deep, deep gouge.

By the time he realizes, its far too late. Nott keeps her lips pressed against his as he struggles for air, blood welling in spurts from the gash in his neck. She lets the dagger clatter to the ground, and as he collapses, she goes down with him. He can’t talk, now, and his face is twisted in pain as he gasps and struggles for air. Nott sits on the ground next to him, not touching him, watching as the life drains from his eyes.

_He was a terrible person_ , she thinks, as the last breath escapes from his lungs. _He was cruel to Yeza. He was cruel to so many people._

_Yes_ , a voice in the back of her mind says, _but he was kind to you._

Nott shakes her head. It doesn’t matter. He still didn’t care about anyone except for the Clan, and he was ok with killing everyone and anyone else. He deserved it. He deserved to die. She’s sure.

It doesn’t matter. It doesn’t make her hands stop shaking, or her breaths start coming more evenly.

She sits there, stunned for a moment, blood from Meff’s body leaking out and seeping into the bottom of her cloak and her pants. She feels tears on her cheeks, although she’s not certain when they started. It might be minutes before Yeza’s voice finally pulls her back to the present.

“Nott?” He can see her from where he is, she knows. Can see what she’s done. “Nott. I…I know this is hard. I know what you just did hurts. But you have to get up. You have to go.”

Nott lifts a hand and rubs her face, leaving blood and salty tears streaked across her cheeks. Yeza’s right. If they don’t move fast enough, another guard will find them before she can get him to safety.

She stands up, walks carefully around the body. Meff’s crossbow has fallen only a few feet away. She picks it up and slings it over her shoulder, and turns to look at Yeza. Her voice is shaky, but she forces the words out.

“There’s going to be other guards on us right away. I’m sure he didn’t come back here alone, and even if he did there’s a huge perimeter guard because of the raid. If we go together, they’ll catch us both.”

“Nott, you can’t—”

“Please just—I can do this. I can lead them away from you. I’ll cause a distraction, and then hide. They won’t see me. I’m good at that. Just—I have to get you out alive.”

Yeza looks her up and down, his eyes heavy with the same sympathy she remembers from the first day she saw him, both of them lying bruised and on the ground. He nods solemnly. Nott takes a deep breath. “Then let’s get you out of that cage.”

Nott walks over to the corpse and stands over it, clamping down on the terror and the sick regret. The sun outside is blinding as she looks towards the door, and it illuminates a tiny circle of floor near the entranceway, but here, in this room, the light remains dim.

She leans over the body, and tells herself it was necessary.

Her fingers though, are gentle, as they remove the keys.

           

           

**Author's Note:**

> Certain trivial lines in this show always seem extremely interesting to me when taken to their ultimate extreme. This came out of Nott and Jester's conversation about first kisses in episode 41. As a note, I really dislike the idea that an entire fantasy race can be inherently evil, and until something tells me otherwise I'm gonna continue to imagine that Nott's clan of goblins is an outlier of some kind. However, from what she's told us, her clan IS pretty terrible, and I feel like it makes sense then that her image of goblins is that ALL of them are terrible, so this is the mindset I tried to incorporate for her.


End file.
